John stared at Sherlock's sleeping form.
A silhouette of navy-robed perfection, curled gracefully against the back of the worn leather sofa.
He marvelled at how peaceful he looked.
A stark contrast to the whirlwind of dark curls, sharp cheekbones, all-seeing eyes and endlessly racing mind.
John studied the curve of the detective's back; the relaxed poise of his long, elegant neck; the delicate waves of his unruly hair.
All begging to be touched; to be stroked; to be softly caressed like a needy child.
Like a child starved of affection. Not a bad analogy, John thought.
Sherlock often acted like an impetuous child.
Impulsive and outspoken. Constantly in need of attention; affirmation; adoration.
Charming; brilliant; addictive...
"Beautiful", John whispered.
He didn't see Sherlock's shy smile...